


Peahen

by Sunshineditty



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Gen, Infidelity, Jealousy, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Porn with (little) plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-19 02:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11303856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshineditty/pseuds/Sunshineditty
Summary: Phryne never fully recovered from her time as part of the French women's ambulance unit during WWI, and has to rely on her own wits to survive in a world indifferent to intelligent and resourceful women. She is a damn good fan dancer at Madame Lyon's gentleman's club where she attracts the attention of the very married Inspector Jack Robinson.





	Peahen

**Author's Note:**

> Phryne strikes me as a woman who will always land on her feet - abusive ex lovers notwithstanding - so I thought about what if she wasn't a rich lady and was instead the fan dancer she pretended to be? I appreciate her frankness about her sexuality so I hope I transferred the same attitude here.

Phryne finished her dance with a flourish, the pink feathers still fluttering from her whirling. Her audience wolf-whistled and stomped, yelling their appreciation for her mostly naked form. She smirked at her admirers and accepted their adulation as her due - she had worked on this routine for several days now, so it was only right they appreciate the fruits of her labor.

The large fans collapsed when she released a specific wire, and her white skin shone like a pearl beneath the lights as she confidently strutted across the stage. She knew tonight she would have her pick of wealthy gentlemen clamoring for her favors, so she must prepare herself for the night. The calls for encore faded as she slipped down the long back hallway to her dressing room, the only dancer who was given such privacy, and she shut the door tightly behind her. The new housegirl, Dot, had anticipated Phryne's needs and already had filled the hip bath in the corner behind the folding screen so she could wash the evening from her skin.

The warmth of the water swirled around her as she eased into the tub, grateful again for her foresight in saving the housemaid from the sisters who ran the slave labor washer house in town. Dot's gratitude knew no bounds and she was willing to go above and beyond anything asked of her, even dance attendance upon a loose woman like Phyrne Fisher, despite her own decidedly moralistic views. Phryne enjoyed having a companion of such caliber as it freed her from the concerns of keeping her clothes and accessories in impeccable shape while she looked for a new paramour. Her last one, the scion of the Fletcher family, had left Melbourne quite abruptly when rumblings of illegal flesh trade had blackened his name. Phryne was understandably upset by this as she didn't want to associate herself with such a blackguard, but she was also pragmatic enough to mourn the loss of revenue more. She knew her looks and sexual athleticism would keep her in fox furs and silks for a few more years yet, but Phryne had no intentions of depending upon the appetites of men forever. She'd come into the trade after the war had left her broken and reeling, cut off from her family, distant from normal polite society because of the atrocities she'd witnessed, where fucking her memories away was the only way she could cope.

It wasn't normal, but then neither was war, and Phryne refused to be ashamed of her decisions. There weren't a lot of choices for women even now in the relatively modern 20s, and Phryne thought if she was to be beholden to men for her livelihood, she might as well do it on her own terms.

A swift knock on the door interrupted her musings, for which she was grateful as maudlin thinking wasn't good preparation for the hunt, so Phryne languidly called out "Enter" as she reclined in her bath.

A suited man stepped across the threshold, hat in hand, and looked around the room before spotting her. Phyrne watched with amusement as a light blush stained his high cheekbones and he instantly averted his eyes from her half-naked form.

"Good evening, Inspector. What brings you here?"

James Robinson was well known to the girls at Madame Lyon's establishment as he often came here for information and half-hearted raids, usually instigated by his father-in-law, the Commissioner. Jack, as he was affectionately nicknamed, was unfailing respectful to the women whenever he chanced upon them, whether it was on the street or in dishabille. It made him an oddity among the usual class of men (though class was a misnomer since the upper crust were just as crude in their desires as dock men) who frequented the club, and more than one woman had tried to lure him with little luck.

Phryne had never thrown her hat into that particular ring no matter how prettily he flushed in her presence because he was poorer than her usual targets and wouldn't be able to support her in the lifestyle to which she was accustomed.

"Miss Fisher, are you aware of Marguerite's...ah...disappearance?"

Phryne rose from her bath like Aphrodite from the sea and allowed a small smirk to turn her lips when he turned almost completely around in an effort to protect her modesty. Given where they were, it was a pointlessly chivalrous gesture that might work with his wife and the younger girls, but just made Phryne impatient. He was a red-blooded man with a working cock, was he not?  She was beautiful and worthy of being admired, gold ring or no, so she patted herself dry and sauntered naked across the room to her dressing table to smooth a particularly fragrant lotion on her skin. She was able to track his movements through her mirror and was annoyed to see he never attempted to take a peek.

"Yes, Inspector, but what does that have to do with me? As far as I'm aware, Marguerite decided to take George's offer for a new life and packed her feathers to pad her new nest."

"George...?"

Phryne snorted. "Oh please, don't insult my intelligence. You know as well as I do that your father-in-law frequents Madame Lyon's parlor once a month and likes to sample the fresher girls." It was no secret the Commissioner enjoyed a rollicking good time with girls younger than his daughter, and he only send his policemen over to make a good show for the public so they were less likely to discover his predilections. Marguerite was the youngest - nearly eighteen - and the most naive of the dancers. She'd been thrown out of her house for falling pregnant with a digger's baby and had miscarried in some back alley. If it wasn't for the Bottle Top boys finding her, she would've bled to death and left little more than a stain to show for her years on Earth. Phryne was just glad the girl had found a protector to take her away from this sordid life before too much of her innocence and faith in the world was completely crushed, even if by a man old enough to have sired her father.

"George...he...no..."

"Oh please,  _Jack_ , you're in here nearly as much as he is even if not for the same reasons so you can't tell me you're such a poor investigator to not understand why. The Commish will take care of her and once he tires of her favors, he will set her for life. It's what he did for Lola." Phryne didn't bother to stare at Jack again as she brushed attar of roses against her pulse points and in the juncture of her hips and mons pubis. Dot had cleaned her favorite blue dress and it sparkled beneath the lights, catching her eyes and setting her imagination on fire. She knew John Andrews was in attendance tonight and his wife was away in England visiting her parents; he was wealthy and a desperate invert which made him the  perfect mark because he would appreciate the shield and Pryne could reap the benefits. But only if she could escape this absurd conversation and snag him before he left the club. 

"Now if you're done wasting my time, I need to dress for my admirers -"

"Wouldn't it be easier to just approach them naked since it's unlikely you'll stay clothed for long?"

"Jealous?" She purred, her hand straying further between her legs as she began lightly stroking her clit, eyes on his through her reflecting glass.

"Yes, damn you. How you tempt me night after night, letting me worship at your feet, but never closer."

Phryne felt her sex pulse with arousal as triumph rushed through her. She'd desired the straight-laced detective since the moment he'd stepped into the parlor, intent on following a clue for a case. Phryne wasn't a callow youth, however, and never allowed her emotions to direct her as she sought companionship among her wealthy admirers. Lust was fine enough coin to save for her inevitable retirement.

"I'm sure your wife prefers my distance."

The taunt was meant to snap Jack back to his reality and remind Phryne of her place. She didn't really care much for high-society wives who were well-bred enough to turn a blind eye to discreet dalliances with women of Phryne's class, but Rosie Sanderson (how the name burned her tongue) was middle-class and married for love instead of money. Phryne made it her business to know all the players in town, and Jack Robinson was respected at all levels of society for his fairness and pursuit of justice no matter what. 

"I don't care," he rasped, stepping closer until his clothed body warmed her back. His gaze never left hers as he dropped his hands to her breasts, palming them before long gun-calloused fingers gently pinched her nipples. Phryne moaned and dropped her head back against his lower body, the urgency of his erection pushing against her. She knew her long neck and fragile collarbones were on display and she watched as his eyes fell to stare at her. He was mesmerized by the darkness of his hands against the alabaster smoothness of her body.

"I ache for your touch. Your voice." His voice deepened further, until she could feel it in her bones. "Your mouth."

Jack released her breasts and pulled her upright and spun her around until she faced him. He plunged his hands into her hair as he devoured her mouth, using his tongue and teeth to subdue her. Phryne was caught up against his lean body, pushed back until her buttocks hit the edge of her dressing table; Jack made her moan deep in her throat when he used upper body strength to lift her and stepped between her spread thighs. He shifted her body until she pressed against him, cunt slick with readiness.

"How I burn for you, Miss Fisher. I watch you on that stage, flaunting your beauty and want to fuck you in front of the others so they know to stay away."

His words were muttered into her neck here he was doing his level best to suck a large hickey on the smooth skin. Phryne knew she shouldn't allow him to mark her as it was gauche to attempt to seduce one man while wearing the last man's claim, but the electric buzz shot through her faster than a finger of whiskey. She clutched his head to her and wrapped her legs around his waist, riding the ridge of his cock pressed against the flies. Jack jerked away from her, face flushed and lips a deep raw red.

"We both know I can't afford your price -"

Phryne interrupted him by taking his left hand and showing him how she liked to be touched. She was a smart and determined woman who was forced to make her own way in the world and she knew the cost of this dalliance better than he did. Jack was a respected man working in a respectable profession whereas she was in a much more untenable position whose livelihood was tied to many of the men Jack knew on either sides of the line. If this blew up in their face, she would bear the brunt of the fallout, yet somehow she couldn't find it in herself to care. He was the first selfish thing she'd allowed herself in years, and she should probably care about the gold ring circling the finger currently fucking her, but if he wasn't going to think of Rosie, why should she?

"Let's dance, Inspector," she husked, fingers nimbly undoing his trousers.

 

 


End file.
